Ron Weasley: Forgotten Friend
by Michael Cyprys
Summary: We take a look at the Harry Potter books, but from Ron's POV (point of view). It will be interesting to view the events that happen to Harry through Ron's eyes. Ron's life will be turned upside down when he meets Harry Potter.
1. Poor Ron

**So Ron meets Harry, and a bond is formed. Ron has no way of knowing that his new acquaintance will change his life drastically. His new friend will have quite some impact on him throughout the years and it will be fun to convey those feelings while looking at everything from Ron's POV (Point Of View). We'll be able to see inside Ron's mind and exclusively reveal theories and thoughts that JK Rowling probably thought Ron would be having but did not choose to implement into her own books, since the POV is almost always Harry's (besides for that moment where we are looking at Bellatrix and Narcissa visiting Snape in Half-Blood-Prince which is probably Narcissa's POV, among few others). Please review, favourite, follow and whatever. A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO THE 2 PEOPLE (or maybe more by the time this chapter is released) WHO FOLLOWED THIS BOOK THE SECOND THEY SAW IT! It is really encouraging that people are so eager to see Ron's perspective on the popular Harry Potter books' events that they will follow before there is really anything to see! I just hope that it was worth it for you. Just a small note: Depending on who is reading this right now, the obvious show of vocabulary and "big words" might make this a "mature" read. I don't think so, though. But enough of me rambling on. Let's get on with the show.**

Ron sat quietly on his bed, frowning down at the jumper he had received as a birthday gift a year ago. He hated maroon. There was something about it that thoroughly depressed him, even though it was a warmer colour in others' minds. It just wasn't the colour he would have chosen for his attire. But with a sigh, he halfheartedly pulled on his jumper. It was fortunate that it fitted his form perfectly. He wasn't yet adept at many spells, and trying to use Reducio or Engorgio to alter his jumper's size was asking for trouble. He had asked his Mum to just "Engorge" his jumper three years back, understanding, even at that age, that it would be a big pain to try and knit the whole jumper again. However, she felt that he could just grow into his jumper and it was unnecessary to use magic if there was no need for it. He had never understood her unwillingness to use magic, even now, when it would harm no-one and nothing bad could really come from it.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a mysterious chill emanating into the room. The source of this chill was elusive, but had no hope of hiding forever. Cursing, Ron stomped across the room and shut the wooden, rotting window with a slam, causing the birds in the trees in the fields below to fly away as if a giant was planning to include them as part of it's breakfast. He had left it ajar the previous night to allow a bit of cool air to play on his face. It was extremely comfortable. He had been quite tired that night after buying all his Hogwarts items, and undergoing a rigorous (and vigorous) cleaning of his room, and the other rooms in the house that were inhabited by his brothers, sister and parents.

His Mum was cold and decided to warm the house up a bit by repeatedly using the Hot-Air Charm in each room of the Burrow. It was a nifty little trick she had learned in her school days. It was compared to a traditional Muggle heater. Hearing shouts of "Aer Calidus" ***** at midnight was enough to wake Ron up, coupled with a horrified scream that suggested to the rest of the family that he had seen an overlarge Acromantula in his bedroom. It didn't really make sense, though, to call an _Acromantula_ overlarge, because they were already proportionally huger than the spiders that inhabit your house, even the ones you find, on occasion, in the bathtub.

Whatever. He sighed again, this time a little more pronounced, and he went down to the dining room for some breakfast. He pulled out a chair and plunked himself down on it. He sighed and stared at the less than inviting bacon, eggs and toast that were occupying the main space of the spindly old table, but began to shovel it down anyways. It seemed that hunger had won over preference... this time.

The Weasley's were an extremely nice, but ridiculously poor family of pure-blooded wizards. They could barely afford simple necessities like food and garments without paying for wands, spellbooks, cauldrons, quills and ink and replacement wands, among others. The fact that they were wizards made this concern all too real, every year. Moreover, when a friend would find out about their financial struggle and offer them a loan, as well as one that didn't require them to pay any of it back, they would refuse. It seemed their pride prevented them from accepting any outside help. Or maybe they were just too thoughtful towards others to care too much about themselves. Mrs Weasley, Ron's mother, certainly seemed to give off this vibe, quite strongly too; in that she would often make her Weasley jumpers for family friends as well, emblazoning them with pictures of broomsticks and the like. She remembered knitting that particular jumper for Harry Potter, some eleven years ago. James and Lily, the boy's parents, were faithful family friends bordering on servants. You could say that they echoed Mrs Weasley's helpful, thoughtful personality to a tee; they did their very best to ensure that Mrs Weasley's life, and, more importantly in their minds, her financial status, was nothing short of the average wizarding family.

"Mum, can you try not to make my jumpers maroon. I really hate that colour." he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Ronnie." Mrs Weasley said exasperatedly. "I try and pick out a different colour for every one of you and I can only get these certain colours at a discounted price."

Ron was about to point out that her argument was pointless, and perhaps his open but suddenly closed mouth illustrated this, but he decided to accept it anyway as he ate his lame breakfast.

"Oh, is little Ronniekins upset about his Weasley jumper?" teased Fred, one of Ron's highly excitable (if that was the word) brothers.

"Shut up." Ron pouted.

"Little Ronnie doesn't like that name, does he? Ronniekins, Ronniekins, Ronniekins. I always thought that was a nice name. Can I call you Ronniekins, Ronniekins?" smirked George, Fred's twin brother.

"SHUT UP!" Ron roared, standing up quickly and overturning the table that breakfast had been served on, now furious at the grinning twins.

"Can't you see that I don't like it? If you still can, I'll curse your eyes out for you. Consider it a luxury." He waved his wand threateningly, to further illustrate this point.

"Since when do _you_ know any spells that could curse our eyes out?" Fred laughed.

Ron sputtered loudly for a moment, which sounded oddly like "Conjunctivitis."

"Anyways, we need those eyes so we don't have to avert them from some voluminous drawers, and then some..." he never quite finished, trailing off with a glazed look over his eye that Ron wasn't quite sure what to make of. A question to be pursued someday.

"Fred!" George muttered quietly to Fred, giving him a look that suggested to Ron that if looks could kill, Fred would probably be dead already.

"We can't talk about that stuff in front of _him_." George nodded pointedly at Ron, who was now speculating about the words which had incensed George.

"Alright, alright, _word police_ , I was just having a little fun..." Fred apologized, the misty look returning to his eyes.

George, now smiling, was shaking his head and rolling his eyes to the heavens.

It was the day before Ron would be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Weasley's had chosen Hogwarts because Beauxbatons Academy was too far away, and Durmstrang Institute.. well that was a school that was rumoured to have been teaching the Dark Arts to all students who attended. Nuf said.

So Ron had visited his bedroom to pack the needed items for school. He stuffed socks and books into his trunk, as well as a few quills and assorted outfits folded neatly by his mother. He had proactively packed prior to breakfast most of the necessities pertaining to a Hogwarts student. He debated on whether to pack his maroon jumper; after all, he despised maroon; but he decided to pack it anyway, since his brothers Fred and George had complained of the cold at Hogwarts; Hogwarts was situated ( _foolishly, Fred and George would have said_ , he thought with a grin) in the mountainous areas. Ron knew that this peculiar decision had only been acted upon because of the Muggles that littered the more obvious places that could house a school of magic. It was for the greater good, a slogan he had learned from his brothers, who had learned it from the creator himself, Gellert Grindelwald, who was currently locked up in his own prison, Nurmengard, after being defeated by Albus (Percival Wulfric Brian) Dumbledore. He didn't know much else and only happened to know these few details because his brother, Percy, had been reading a book pertaining to Grindelwald. Ron had asked Percy for a brief explanation about Grindelwald. Percy had started off slowly, not sure how much he should say. But with the help of a little irritable nagging on Ron's part, he had elaborated a little. So he knew about Grindelwald. He had quite liked the little slogan he had created. It rolled off the tongue. It made sense, as well. It meant that anything that was done would be good in the long run, or at least that was how _he_ had interpreted it. There were probably many deeper interpretations that were beyond his level of understanding, probably for years to come. He sighed and unceremoniously dropped the last sock into his trunk.

* * *

He was lying in bed, knowing that he needed to get some sleep as he would be "up with the birds", as they said. But he would have had better luck trying to get the ghoul in the pipes above him to speak English, or rather, not to speak at all. He was imagining Hogwarts, the feasts, the types of lessons and homework he would have to endure, the proportions of the castle, the magic spells he would learn while there and which people would be his friends, maybe even for life. It was the latter that was worrying him. What if he was sorted into Hufflepuff, or worse, Slytherin? Would his family disown him, or would they not give a damn?

He had heard (again from Fred and George) that Slytherin house was the place where all the future Death Eaters had gone, and You-Know-Who himself had been a Slytherin. The thought sent shivers down his spine. It was the stuff of legend; that he had come to the Potter's house, intent on murder, to kill James and Lily Potter. James had held his own for about ten seconds before falling like a marionette whose strings had been cut short, to the Killing Curse. Lily had run upstairs and had tried to barricade the door. He just blasted the door open like there was no blockage and proceeded to kill the boy in the cot, Harry Potter. Lily could have lived if she hadn't jumped in front of the cot to save her son. Lily had her life taken for her own son, thus invoking a very powerful magic induced by love. You-Know-Who could never really fathom what love was, he had always thought it was such a useless emotion.

He had cast the curse that had killed every single individual that had crossed his path and it rebounded on him! His powers were lost and he was reduced to absolutely nothing but a mere shadow. Last rumoured sighting of him was in an Albanian forest. This relaxed him a little, knowing that You-Know-Who was quite distant from his place of residence and could do no harm to him. He was most likely dead and may have been so for years. The thought cheered him up, and with this comforting thought train, he was gently lulled to sleep.


	2. Pitiful Perturbed Potter

_1st September, 1991_

Getting on the platform was easy. It was the fact that you had to be totally undetected by the Muggles that was annoying. After all, if they saw wierdly dressed people with owls and cats disappearing into thin air, they would know something was up. They may even come to discover the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

But Ron knew better. He knew that it was heavily warded to avoid the curious Muggles. If they got to close to the wall, they would suddenly remember important appointments and run off without a second thought. _Bless them_ , he thought fondly as he pushed his trolley cautiously through the crowd.

Ron's eyes chanced upon a bespectacled boy who looked about his age, with dark hair that stuck up at the back, _probably a nuisance,_ he thought with a slight grin, remembering the time when his Mum had forced herself upon yet another of his brothers, Bill Weasley, to give him his long-awaited haircut. Bill preferred to shape his hair into a long ponytail that rather suited him, Ron had thought. His Mum had finally managed to get him to at least half agree on a "bit of a trim", which resulted in Bill refusing to show his face for a week, during which he had started learning to grow his own hair back magically; a skill that would prove itself opportune if his Mum decided to ambush his hair again.

This boy, he noticed, was alone, and, even from a distance, Ron could make out an expression on his face that made him assume that this boy was lost, or confused. Probably both.

He was about to ask his Mum about this boy, but she had pursued another topic; she was chatting animatedly to her other kids about anti-Muggle security. The boy, not too far away from them now, seemed to have heard this and made a beeline for them. He approached Ron's Mum and began to ask something, but she cut him short by asking if he wanted to get on the platform. He nodded silently. She began to explain the process of getting onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He was, evidently, starting at Hogwarts, too.

"This is one of my sons, Ron. He's also starting out at Hogwarts." said his Mum, smiling. She was always so kind to others.

They both acknowledged each other and said their "Hi"s and "Hello"s and whatnot. He remarked that this boy was awfully polite. He seemed to be preoccupied with his thoughts.

"Alright, you can go before Ron through the barrier." Mrs Weasley twinkled down at the boy.

"Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

"Ready?" Ron cajoled him.

"Yeah." he said to Ron.

He ran full pelt, towards the barrier between platform nine and ten. He collided with it (or rather, he just went right through). Next, Ron jogged through the barrier, seemingly undetected by the Muggles. When a great cloud of smoke diminished, his eyes fell upon the train, emblazoned with "Hogwarts Express", and a sign that read "Platform Nine and Three Quarters".

Ron walked down the train, ignoring the owls hooting and screeching. A round-faced boy ran past and asked him if he had seen his road, Trevor. When Ron answered in the negative, he sped off, back the way he had come. There was an empty compartment down the far end of the train. The same boy who they had helped get onto the platform, who he now knew as Harry Potter, thanks to his siblings Fred, George and Ginny.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, indicating the vacant seat opposite Harry.

"Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head, so Ron took that as his cue to sit down. He observed Harry for a moment, then quickly looked out the window, blushing a little, pretending he hadn't outright stared at him.

Fred and George came back and said something about a tarantula. He shivered slightly, though it was pleasantly warm in the train. Magic, of course. They introduced themselves to Harry and sped off.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron asked without hesitation. Harry nodded.

"Ah. I thought the twins were joking. Have you really got - you know..." he pointed at Harry's forehead keenly. Harry pulled back his dark fringe of hair to reveal a lightning bolt scar.

Is that where You-Know-Who-?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "but I can't remember much."

"What _can_ you remember?" Ron blurted out a little too quickly.

"A whole lot of green light. That's all, really."

Ron just gaped at Harry, imagining the sadness he went through every day of his life because of Voldemort. Ron couldn't say the name because he was too scared, like almost every witch and wizard these days. So he and his family called that bastard by You-Know-Who. It was supposed to prevent any confusion as to who they were talking about. Funnily enough, it did the exact opposite. He realised that he was being a little rude and he swiftly turned his head towards the window.

They began to talk about their families. Ron talked about how all his family were wizards, except his Mum's second cousin, who was an accountant. Harry talked about the only remaining family he had, the Dursleys. According to Harry, most Muggles were just as nice as wizards, but not his family. His aunt, uncle and cousin treated him like muck. Ron proceeded to chat about his family's financial troubles and his standing among his brothers, how he had a lot to live up to, and the annoying fact that everyone expected him to do as well as his brothers, but if he did, it was beneath their worth, because they had managed it first. _A classic sibling story_ , he thought bitterly.

Harry replied tactfully to this by informing Ron that he had had to wear his over large cousin's clothes and he had not received any money or even so much as a tissue, from the Dursleys. Ron felt a little less bitter after hearing this. It meant that Harry could, in some aspects, relate to his living status. They discussed Quidditch after Harry expressed his confusion at the topic. All the while, it was becoming darker outside.


	3. Chess Chagrin

"Tonight's the night. If Snape steals the stone, who knows how Voldemort could benefit."

Ron flinched. His reasoning was two-fold. First off, Harry's utterance of the name feared by the vast majority of wizards in Britian was not normal to Ron. Second, the idea of going through a trapdoor past a bloody three-headed dog was not his or Harry's idea of fun.

"You won't be going down there yourself." Ron stated firmly.

"I can't involve you in this in any way. I don't want to see you get hurt." Harry replied.

"We're coming with you Harry." Hermione pushed.

"Yeah, Harry. We've got your back and we're not letting go." Ron said with finality in his tone.

"Ok, fine then. This will be quite dangerous." Harry replied, coming to terms with the fact that his friends would not be backing out on this.

"We _know_ Harry. That's not going to stop us." Hermione assured.

Boy, that girl could be stubborn when she wanted to. He found that to be a cute mannerism of hers, but he had eternal plans to take that opinion with him to the grave.

He tried to extricate himself from the tentacles that had entrapped him without his noticing. Hermione was struggling against the wall, standing on a small rock formation that came just short of the plant-like thing capturing him. Surely enough, Harry was looking like the creature's appetiser too.

"I've just remembered something!" Hermione screamed, echoing a thousand times off the damp rocky walls. The effect was mesmerising.

"Well, hurry up! I can't breathe!" Harry gasped.

Ron realised that oxygen was thinning inside of him as he struggled to even say his own name.

"It's called Devil's Snare!" she breathed.

"Well that's just dandy! How d'you stop us from becoming it's Sunday brunch?" Harry yelled hoarsely.

"It likes the dark and cold. That's what Flitwick said last month..."

"So light a fire!" Harry whispered. The plant was constricting his airways.

"There's no wood!" Hermione observed.

"BLOODY HELL HERMIONE!! ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?" Ron roared, his energy slightly replenished.

"Oh, of course!" Hermione sighed, like this was class and she had answered a question wrongly the first time around.

She conjured some of those beautifully warm bluebell flames and watched as the Devil's Snare released it's prey and sunk back, into a seemingly enchanted sleep.

Ron got up, shaking from head to toe.

"Never again. _Never_. " he muttered tiredly. Too damn tired to do this shit. He should have just stayed in bed this morning and had a lie-in.

"You guys should have listened in Flitwick's class." Hermione reprimanded them as she got to her feet.

 _She just fucking saved us from becoming Devil's Snare's food and the first thing she does is scold us for not paying attention in Flitwick's class? Really? Like, what?? I might never understand girls. All the weird things they do in near death situations. Their appliance of makeup when they already look dazzling. Their frickn' high heels. Someone has got to write a book. Not some crappy one about how to get with girls, I mean an actual bloody book detailing girls, their antics and why the hell they do things. I'm going on a tangent here. Must place myself at the matter at hand,_ Ron thought, wondering how this day could get any worse.

"There happens to be a door." Harry noted, pointing. A rustic, brass door stood proudly, silently daring them to walk through and wallow in the horrors lurking within. Hmm. That would be a good story description. They filed through the door and came to the next room. There were glittering birds flying haphazardly across the room. Harry made a startling revelation.

"They're not birds, they're keys, look carefully." Harry informed the group.

"Look! Broomsticks!" Harry rushed over and threw them to Ron and Hermione.

Ron went over and examined the lock of this room's door. It was a shiny silver, simple, yet elegant, a nice contrast to the dull grey of the rocky wall.

"We're looking for a silver key, like the lock." Ron confirmed.

Several minutes later, and after crashing into the roof more than was warranted, they had the key. Ron stuffed it into the lock and turned. He set the battered key free. After some meaningful exchanged looks and nods, they proceeded to the next chamber.

It was quite dark in here. Ron was just putting his hand in front of his eyes to see if he could distinguish the outline from the darkness when the door slammed shut, locking them in and suddenly lighting up the room, revealing the all-important fact that the trio were standing on the edge of a giant chessboard.

"Excuse me." Ron said in a high voice that wasn't usually there. The white queen turned it's stone head towards him in answer.

"Do we have to play our way across the board to get to the next room?"

The white queen nodded in the affirmative.

Ron and the others took the places of a few black pieces. They quivered in their spots, cowering before the overly tall chess pieces. Ron directed their troops to do battle. He had a recklessly brave pawn and an incredibly stupid knight to deal with. He made sure to monitor Harry and Hermione's conditions to decide whether they should move or not. Ron had to constantly dash across the board, taking as many pieces as were being depleted from them. It was a good thing that Ron was a chess guru. Otherwise, this would be hell right now.

They were losing quite badly to the white team now and they really couldn't afford to lose any more pieces. What if he stuffed up and caused Harry or Hermione to be knocked out by the pieces? No, he had to calm himself. He wouldn't lose this for anything, not with Harry, Hermione and the fate of the Stone relying on him so strongly. He pondered for a moment. They were in a tight spot, not enough pieces to make a good move. He came to a rather unfortunate conclusion.

"I have to get taken by the white queen and that leaves you, Harry, free to checkmate." Ron said grimly.

"No! You can't, Ron!" screamed Hermione.

"I must! Sometimes you have to make sacrifices in chess and this is one of those times!" Ron shot back, looking resigned.

This was probably gonna hurt quite a bit, from what he could gather of their pieces' destruction. Too damn painful. But he had to. It probably wouldn't be permanent. Hopefully no brain damage.

Ron apprehensively made his move towards the almighty white queen. She towered over him like a brick wall, leaving a long shadow over his form. The queen paused for a second, as if doing some quick thinking, then it descended onto him with the power of five Acromantula. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Harry and Hermione's horror-stricken expressions and all the other chess pieces looking quite smug. He could have sworn that one of them smirked at him as he fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Lying down on something comfy and warm was an experience that he just couldn't miss. This bed was one of the most luxurious beds he had ever rested on (and that included his dormitory four-poster). Why he was lying down, though, he was at a loss. Everything before this strange moment of serenity was a fuzzy blur, distorted images flashing through his mind.

Voices started to erupt around him like a boat's foghorn or a Sonorus charm. They sounded worried, he hadn't a clue _why_. Why was he lying in this goddamn bed, why was every event before now trapped in a blurry vault and why were these voices even worried?! Who were these people, intruding while he was resting upon the bed? Why in the name of everything holy did his fucking head feel like he'd been knocked out or something?

Click. Click, click, BOOM. It was all rushing back to him. The Stone, Snape going to steal it, Harry pursuing the Stone, him and Hermione going with, the retarded Devil's Snare almost eating them for dinner, the winged key room. The next room contained a stupidly overlarge chess board with _live magical pieces the size of fucking Godzilla_. He remembered playing across the board.

Ah. Checkmate. He had sacrificed himself to let Harry checkmate and ultimately win. The white queen rendered him useless to the others. He hoped against hope that Harry got the Stone, maybe Dumbledore was protecting it now.

He sat up and allowed himself a glance at the bed adjacent to his. Sure enough, Harry was sitting up in it as well, speaking to Hermione, when he stopped and said,

"Hey, Ron! How're you feeling?"

"Alright. My head still hurts a bit, but not as much as I imagined it would. I think I was given some potion for it. But let's get down to more pressing matters."

Ron dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Do you have the Stone? Where is it now?"

"Dumbledore talked to me when I woke up. He said the Stone was destroyed."

"Aw, man." Ron groaned loudly.

"I would have loved to have lived to be 600 years old. Or to have a gold toilet."

Ron paused for a moment, as if deciding.

"Yeah, I want the toilet." he grinned.

Hermione had to suppress a giggle. Harry burst into tears of laughter as he nearly fell off the bed. If he had, though, he was in the hospital wing.

"Tell Fred and George that." Hermione smiled, holding back a snigger.

"Yeah, especially after Mum told them not to blow up a toilet." Ron replied, guffawing heartily.

The trio laughed for a while, exchanging jokes and talking about the events miles under the school.

Ron was finally getting to share the spotlight with Harry. The tale of his essential sacrifice while playing with Professor McGonagall's chess set had spread through the school like Fiendfyre. People were ambushing him regarding this story. He elaborated on certain key details and the people were admiring of his bravery and logic.

Many first-years and even a fourth-year student challenged Ron to a chess match after hearing of the happenings. Ron beat every single one of them, highlighting at the end of the game where they went wrong, and giving them steps and tips to rectify their errors. It was an arduous task, but it was worth it just to see the smile on their faces when they took steps to manage their mistakes.

The feast was absolutely divine. Roast turkeys, chicken, potatoes and gravy descended into the depths of Ron's bowels. The Slytherins had won the House Championship this year, Harry being unable to play in the Quidditch matches due to his unconsciousness. Draco Malfoy was shouting and banging his goblet on the table. What a sickening prat.

"Ahem." Dumbledore had risen to speak. Silence was attained.

"Thank you. Due to the recent events, we must dish out a few last minute points."

Ron eyebrows raised, as did most of the crowd's. Slytherin didn't need _more_ points, did they?

"To Mister Ronald Weasley-"

Ron felt the colour rising in his face. _Him_ , receive _extra_ points for Gryffindor?

"-for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in years, we award him fifty points."

Raucous cheers filled the hall as Gryffindors roared their pleasure and approval. Ron couldn't add up the points at the same time as cheering. He guessed that more points were coming; maybe another fifty?

"To Miss Hermione Granger-"

He looked over at Hermione and saw her face shining with surprise and anticipation.

"-for showing a cool use of logic in the face of fire, we award her fifty points."

More cheers erupted from the crowd that had been so silent a second ago. Hermione buried her face in her hands. Tears of happiness, he presumed. There was no way Hermione would be sad right now, what with the great food and the strong probability of Gryffindor winning the House Championship.

"To Mister Harry Potter-"

The room went so silent Ron could have sworn that no one was breathing.

"-for bravery and courage in the face of danger, we award him sixty points."

The cheers were rowdy and joyous. They were neck and neck with Slytherin. Why couldn't Dumbledore just have given Harry sixty-five points. Or even just one more point.

"There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I hereby award Neville Longbottom ten points."

A bomb went off in the hall, so to speak, as the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike roared like ecstatic gorillas. Gryffindor had taken out the championship for this year. Neville was buried alive under a pile of people hugging him and praising him.

"We need a change of decorations." Dumbledore smiled. He quickly clapped his hands twice and the Slytherin banner became Gryffindor's. Ron smirked at Snape's feigned congratulatory expression. He also smirked at the look Malfoy was sporting, as if he had been denied his usual supply of sweets.

The feast became quite appealing, as if he hadn't noticed it's grandeur a few minutes ago. Draco's disappointed, angry look as he realised that Slytherin was no longer the winner was implanted into Ron's mind and it was probably never going to leave, at least not until he had finished his chicken.

"You must be Harry's family." his Mum said to the man, woman and child (or rather, basketball) while they looked scared at the mention of Harry's name.

"In a manner of speaking." the man grunted with a growl.

"Come on boy, we haven't got all day." he motioned to Harry furiously.

Where did Harry's uncle get off speaking to him like that? Was Harry's life always this bad, or were his family a bunch of megalomaniacs, making themselves appear intimidating in front of an audience?

"Hope, you er, have a good holiday." Hermione stammered in shock, thunderstruck by the dismissive and abusive manner Harry's uncle had treated Harry to.

"It's going to be great." Harry grinned.

Ron was amazed by this. How could life with an abusive family be even so much as mildly interesting, let alone fun?!

"They don't know we can't use magic over the holidays. I'm going to have much more fun than I should be allowed to with Dudley..."

Harry's grin only split wider as he waved and joined his family. He felt a rush of sympathy for Harry. Sudden, but he felt it nonetheless. He couldn't even begin to imagine how horrible it must be to have no parents.

"They should be here by now... I told them it's just the platform..." Hermione trailed off, looking around and anxiously checking her Muggle watch.

Of course it was Muggle, her parents were Muggles. She was Muggle-born, or Mudblood, as he had heard Draco Malfoy describing other Muggle-born kids as. Mudblood was a filthy name to be called, regardless of your magical category and ranking.

Not that he hated it. Hermione had turned out to be the most proficient in the grade. She knew anything. Heck, you didn't even need the textbooks when you had Hermione in a good mood.

"I'm sure they're fine. We were some of the first to leave the train. We're basically early." Ron comforted, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, wait. Is that..." Hermione stopped, unsure.

Hermione's mother and father were walking rather timidly through the hustle and bustle of the Muggle crowd, trying their utmost not to get lost in the tidal wave of people; instead weaving their way towards Hermione, waving jovially and scurrying over.

"How was school, dear?" her Mum asked gently.

"Oh, it was great, I learnt so much, I can't wait to go back." she babbled.

Ron smiled inside. Classic Hermione. Leaves school and wants to go back tomorrow. Probably asked for a garbage truck full of homework. Probably got it.

"Who's this?" Her father motioned towards him with interest.

"This is a friend, Ron Weasley." Hermione replied.

"Hi, good to meet you." Ron gripped her father's already outstretched hand firmly.

"Well, I suppose we'd better be off." her mother suggested.

"It was great meeting you, Ron. We hope to see you again in the near future." her father said.

"Certainly." Ron confirmed.

"Come, Hermione."

"Bye, Ron. Please write over the holidays!" Hermione squealed.

"Bye Hermione! See ya."

He turned around after watching Hermione and co. round the corner. His Mum and sister were standing a few metres away, twinkling at him. His brothers Gred and Forge, or whoever they were, exchanging jokes with each other.

"Time to go." he muttered, adjusting his Muggle pants and moving towards his family. Thank God he had family.


End file.
